Teardrops On My Guitar
by insane.lil.piratess
Summary: Jack Sparrow's dad? No, that's not the only thing to Captain Teague... He was once a boy; a teenage pickpocket longing for freedom. But once granted it, there's no telling what problems would come... This is HIS tale, HIS life and HIS freedom... Teague/OC
1. No Place Like Home, eh?

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own PotC, Teague or not even Brannigan, 'Quick Draw' and Teague's mama! They were all mentioned in the **_**Jack Sparrow**_** series, so you can thank dear old Mr. Kidd for their appearances! The only ones I own from this chapter are Evelyn, Charlie… and the rest of the un-mentioned kids!**

**Author's Note:**** Here it is, as promised… a story about the lovely Captain Teague, which has nothing whatsoever to do with the song! Applause, please! ;)  
Ah, yes, and I don't know Teague's first name… it's either Grant or Edward… I'm going with Edward for now, but if anyone knows it, tell me and I'll change it! :)**

* * *

_**Madagascar,  
17th July, 1704**_

**--  
**_**Chapter I  
**__No Place Like Home, eh?  
_**--**

"'Ey! Get back 'ere! Little bleedin' thieves, get back!"

Of course, they didn't turn back. Oh, the Teague children had been brought up well enough to know the rules of pickpocketing; never, ever, _ever _run backwards. Only forwards. Even though they were yet to be as professional as their dear old Da', they had memorised this rule. They knew it off by heart, some might say.

It wasn't long before their footsteps became uneven, pulling them ever so gradually to a regrettable slow, their lungs leaked of all the oxygen once within them.

It was thankfully hidden inside a dark alley way when the littlest of the young figures collapsed against a cobbled wall, sweat teaming and sticking to her prickly forehead. Yes, this thief – _criminal_ if you wish – was a girl; a young woman in other words.

Her panting was ridiculously unsteady, the lump gathering in her narrow throat just suffocating her further.

The tallest of the three – the only one that didn't seem visibly tired at all – reached into his flowing jacket and directed a leather flask at her. She cupped it into her tiny feeble-looking hands and brought it to her thin lips, letting the sweet liquid trail down her oesophagus without a second thought.

"Let's… never… do that… again…" she wheezed, grappling her cloaked arms tightly around her knees.

"_Or_ the next time we could just not get caught," chimed in the second of the lads, rising from his bent position and outstretching his spine, a charming smirk plastered across his face.

The girl shrugged, dark locks bobbing far past her shoulders. "That too," she mumbled, impassively.

"A'right. Let's go home," the tallest announced, snatching back his flask from her tapping fingertips. All three children outspread their limbs as they stood straight, no support provided by the cobbled wall.

The tallest walked on first; he was visibly the eldest of the three, though there was no telling whether he was the most sensible. He ruffled his large fingers through the light brown locks ordered unevenly on the top of his head. His dark eyes were large and unmoving; they didn't flitter about and hardly seemed to blink. They just focused on the path ahead, as his proud smirk extended.

The local's would recognise this lad without a doubt as Brannigan; the eldest of the seven children in the Teague household. The fellow pickpockets and thieves of the town would distinguish him as 'Ace' Brannigan, for a reason neither he nor any of them could even begin to remember.

The young girl followed him, her steps quick yet somewhat graceful. Her name was Evelyn. Never Eve and most certainly not Evie. Just Evelyn. Evelyn Teague. Her dark, thick hair curled untameable and long, almost three-quarters of the way down her back. Her eyes matched, just like the rest of her siblings; deep chocolate brown and her thin eyelashes occasionally blinked over them, hardly making a difference to her young looks until they did so.

Her thin lips turned up into a grin. She enjoyed her freedom; and, as she had recently discovered, pickpocketing was the way to feel alive. For her first time, she _had _done pretty well, even if she was the only one to admit it. Well, _maybe_ she had been spotted… and yes, _maybe_ it was her who had knocked over an apple cart on their escape… but it was _also_ her who led her big brothers into safety.

Funny old world, ain't it?

And what of the last of them, I hear you ask?

Well, he was Edward. Edward Teague.

Although, never a day in his life was he called by his first name. It was simply just 'Teague'. _Teague Teague_, some of the immature kids used to joke. But as far as he and his family saw it, it was reasonable.

Being the second eldest of the children, when born, his mother was out of name ideas; Brannigan had been named after their father and his parents weren't really the imaginative lot. So, to make the old salt happy, his mother named him _Edward _after her own father. Though, truth be told, the name had never suited him and never will.

Therefore, he was Teague. Just Teague. Though someday, he hoped, it would be _Captain _Teague. Yes… that suited him much better. Much, much, _much_ better…

As the three of them trailed swiftly back to their small home, Teague continued to smirk; there wasn't a day he didn't think about his freedom, his ship and even the all important loyal crew; oh, yes, he had it all covered.

The sharp breeze tugged roughly at his tangled shoulder-length dark hair, his chocolate eyes wincing as it bit away at his cheekbones. Yet it didn't wipe the smirk from his young face…

The siblings shared no word on the swift walk through the quiet alleys of their Madagascan town; it hardly seemed to cross their minds the alerted townsfolk would be on the hunt for three young pickpockets sharing their exact looks and dress sense.

They paced through rather slow, considering their situation, and unlike most, didn't stop to admire the views; lush green trees and bright pink flowers, growing out and tall behind the crumbling houses and even the occasional lemur leaping gracefully past their feet.

All three kept their heads low, concentrating on the movement of their footsteps and the grey cobbled ground, taking the time to intermittently kick a large stone into a nearby wall.

Eventually, they paused at a decent sized detached house slightly far from the others. Well, maybe the windows were slightly smashed, the walls crumbling and the wooden door practically gnawed right through by the pesky woodworms, but this was were the Teague children could call home… at least until they were old enough to make their 'own way' in the world, as their mother had previously explained to them.

Brannigan carelessly rattled his fist against the half-eaten door, squinting infrequently through tiny bullet holes produced by their practicing over the years.

"Come in," a young voice ultimately answered, a voice the young pickpockets didn't recognise as that of their Ma's.

It made no difference, however. Brannigan shoved at the door, ramming his booted toes at the stuck bottom corner which had flexibly trapped itself in the rotting old door frame until it swung open, revealing the darkened atmosphere of the kitchen.

"Oh, lord, Charlie, open the curtains at least!" Brannigan cussed at the teenage boy smashing his knife through carrots in a damp corner, resting his weight on one of the dilapidated counters.

"No can do," muttered Charlie, the third eldest and one of the most vulnerable of his six siblings, "Mum an' Auntie 'Quick Draw' are down the tavern, again… she said to shut the drapes… said Evelyn was bound t' bring a crowd after you… first time pickpocketin' for her an' all."

Evelyn shot her tongue out at her sniggering brother.

"Aw, give her some credit, mate; she did lead us away from 'em!" Teague defended her, whipping out his green bandana from his deep pocketed coat. He tightened it around his forehead before slipping it back up over his dark hair. "It was a long chase, though… Got any rum in?"

"Nah… Why else would Mum go to a tavern?" Charlie mumbled, toppling his chopped carrot chunks into a boiling pot over the grubby stove.

Teague raised his eyebrow, suggestively. "The social gathering?" he ridiculed with a mischievous grin.

Charlie merely rolled his eyes.

It wasn't a long wait for the four children lingering in the kitchen; there were soon noisy footsteps and hot-tempered arguing taking place outside their home. In fact it only took a moment for there to be a scratching sound tuned into the merciless melody.

"Mum," chimed the four teenagers, each of them rolling their twin pairs of deep chocolate eyes.

In hardly any time at all, their decomposing front door was flung open, bouncing back and forth on its rusting bronze hinges. In stormed a woman with untameable brown hair, twisting down to her shoulders like straw. She fumed past them, raving curses beneath her breath.

The children glanced down to their hands, feet or activity, forcing themselves to avoid eye contact with an angry 'Quick Draw' McFlemming. They had before experienced the anger and unforgivable temper of their auntie and, truth be told, it was not pleasant.

The siblings kept their eyes on the ground; Teague began to twiddle his thumbs, scrappily as Evelyn twirled a piece of derelict string around her fingers. However, as soon as they heard the old front door crash shut, it was their cue to glance back up.

And there she stood; their mother, Marie Teague. Her looks matched those of their Auntie, yet only a little older. Her deep brown hair was beginning to grey and her height seemed to be shrinking by the day. She had to have been slightly shorter than Evelyn by now. Her shirt was stained with rum and fading as well as torn and her itchy brown skirt had been ripped over the years of wearing it.

"Perfidious little wench," she muttered. "Let's hope ye take after yer mother and not yer Auntie," she said pointedly to Evelyn, who froze, her eyes widened.

Brannigan snickered slightly at the expression on his younger sister's expression. He stopped, however, once he spied his mother glaring daggers at him whilst she gradually took her seat at the circular table.

"Alright," she announced, beckoning her children around her. "Let's see what ye got."

Evelyn took this opportunity to outshine her brothers, though they had been pickpocketing longer than her and, in all fairness, had done a much better job. Nevertheless, she had conducted a plan of her own.

"Here," she proclaimed, dangling twelve or so chains in front of their mother, whose eyes were now glittering with delight.

"Oi!" Brannigan suddenly spluttered out. "More than half o' them are _mine_!"

Evelyn smirked, flexing her tanned hand in front of her eldest brother's bewildered face. "Pickpocket," she reminded him, proudly.

"So, I believe ye've come home empty handed?" his mother jeered, winking at her sniggering daughter.

"No!" argued Brannigan. "I've come back… robbed…"

This was his mother's cue to howl with laughter. She had to be drunk, the merely sniggering children – and scowling Brannigan – figured. Bad mother Marie Teague may seem, but truth be told, she would _never_ laugh at the misfortune of her children… unless having recently taken a blown to the head or consumed a great amount of alcohol.

Brannigan huffed, turning himself abruptly to the open area of their reasonably sized lounge, heading directly to the crooked wooden stairway. Marie and her eldest children listened intently as Brannigan's heavy footsteps stomped into the room directly above their kitchen.

Their mother rolled her eyes. "Bloody five year old," she muttered on the subject of Brannigan's temper tantrums. However, she altered her glower into a thin smile as she engaged her glance on Teague;

"What ye got, lad?" she queried him, the sparkle returning to her dark eyes.

Teague smiled a grin unique to him only, concurrently reaching into his deep pockets. He hurled out a variety of silky handkerchiefs bundled over shimmering gold rings.

"Wow…" mumbled Evelyn as she and her mother leaned in over Teague's collection. Her eyes gleamed up at her big brother, "did you take 'em right off the fingers?"

"Er… aye," Teague lied. In all honesty, he had taken the rings right from an unguarded jewellery stand… but, oh, it was so more impressive this way. And besides, it was technically still stealing…

"Pretty impressive, I gotta say," Charlie piped in, peering over his mother's shoulder at the sparkling pile on the table.

"Aye…" Marie agreed, examining the stunning ring in between the tips of her fingers. She slipped it down to her knuckle, squinting at the glimmering emerald orb. "Well done, lad. Bet ye're pretty proud, eh?"

Teague shrugged it off, reflexively. "Thrilled," he answered, forcing his sarcasm unsuccessfully aside.

However, he wasn't fine. Sure, it felt good when his family congratulated him, but Teague had more ambitions in life… and becoming a professional pickpocket was not one of them. With a short sigh, he turned himself away, examining his filth ingrained fingernails, uninterestedly.

Marie exhaled with one glance at her son. He was unhappy, even she could see that. Could it be… was her Teague ready to go at life his own way? Oh, she couldn't let him go; he was her best pickpocket; he supported the family; he looked out for her when ever she needed him…

But this was his freedom, wasn't it?

And, from experience, she knew _nothing_ meant more to a young Teague than freedom…

"Kids, could ye give yer brother and I a minute?" she breathed, pointedly to Charlie and Evelyn.

"Aye," her third son nodded, with no suspicion at all. "But… what about the stew?"

"Never mind about that!" their mother snapped with a wave of her hand, dismissing them from the kitchen, "I just need to talk to yer brother alone."

Teague glanced up, his eyebrow raised up into his forehead, inquisitively. Evelyn shot him a perplexed glimpse, which he could only shrug at for a response. She matched his previous action, shaking it off as she trailed after Charlie into the next room.

Marie paused until she heard the clank of their footsteps and Brannigan's now-calm voice tune into the beginning of a conversation. She took this as her indication to begin, rising gradually from her seat and edging towards her baffled son.

"Look, lad…" she began, placing a hand over her his shoulder. Teague crouched down slightly so she could reach his ear in which her plan was clearly to whisper into.

"Ye're old enough now, I think. Ready to go yer own way."

Teague paused. Freedom? His much deserved freedom just out of reach? Surely she wasn't serious?

"R-really?" he stammered. His mother nodded, a smile coming to her thin lips. Teague's chocolate eyes brightened and smirk returned to his youthful face. "But… what about Brannigan?"

His mother snorted, submissively. "Teague, Brannigan's an adolescent oaf!" she exclaimed. "Yer much more mature than he is, lad. If I let Brannigan go 'is own way, he'd be caught by the Navy within a day, and I don't want ye defending him on that!"

He grinned possibly the biggest smile known to the household. _His_ dream? His dream coming to reality? His freedom? Was it really possible? Would his mother just… just let him go like that? He couldn't believe it, really.

"So…" he stumbled over his words, "I can… go?"

"Bloody hell, lad, 'ow many times do ye want me to say it?!" his mother rolled her eyes with a slam of her fist against the dilapidating table.

Teague smirked. "At least once, Mum."

"Fine, ye can go soon, Teague! Tomorrow if ye so insist! Yer ready to go yer own way, for the last bleedin' time!" she ranted, throwing up her arms, dramatically. "Happy now?!"

He nodded. "Thanks, Mum," he smiled at her, equivalent to a sign of affection – a hug or even a kiss – for the Teague family.

"Alright, alright, no need t' get all soft on me or I might reconsider!" Marie grumbled, trudging back to her seat, stiffly.

Teague straightened his face, immediately. This was _his_ freedom now; his future, even... And _nothing_ would result in it being taken away from him… Not even one of his mother's pointless little threats…

* * *

**Author's Note:**** WOOOOO! FINISHED! AT LAST! ****LOL!**

**I rushed it slightly at the end; I just wanted to get it done! I think I did a pretty good job… hopefully… And I guessed the name of their Mum… she's just 'Grandmama' in the books! :) Although it took me ages to find a name… I just settled with 'Marie' out of boredom of looking!**

**So, what do ya think? Any suggestions? Oh, and I also need three boys names for the other three little Teague children! Poor Evelyn… I feel sorta bad for making her the only girl… but oh well… :)**

**I have a feeling I've left some stuff un-answered… I'll reply with anything you want me to answer, okay? Unless you wanna know some sort of genius science question… I suck at science! :)**

**Oh, crap, now I gotta get back to **_**My Name is Jack**_**! See ya in chapter two! :)**


	2. Sweet Freedom

**Author's Note:****Yeah! Chapter 2, dearies! :D I got 3 reviews for the first chapter, so that's a good start, I guess! Anyways, enjoy! Oh, and thanks to **_**Oceangoddess**_** for Chris, David and Matt's names!**

* * *

_**Madagascar,  
18th July, 1704**_

**--  
**_**Chapter II  
**__Sweet Freedom  
_**--**

For Teague, the next day took its time to come around; he hadn't spoken a word to his siblings about his granted freedom, but it had seemed they had sensed something was going on. Particularly Chris, the fifth child of the family; he hadn't hesitated on questioning his big brother about his queer behaviour…

Of course, there was really no point due to the fact he only got lies as responses.

But as soon as morning broke, Teague crammed his belongings into a satchel, grabbed onto his elderly guitar and rushed to the old docks, flinging his possessions in their father's ship – well, more an oversized fishing boat than actual _ship_ – and began to pace the deck, rewinding his mind back to all the nautical information his mother had taught him as a little boy.

"_Yo-ho, haul together, hoist the colours high," _he recalled her singing, though he had to wrack his brains to evoke the meaning of it.

With a shrug, he grabbed a nearby rope and tugged it with no confidence whatsoever it would do something. A small smirk found his lips, however, when a little sail was pulled higher toward the new morning sky.

"We're never gonna set sail if ya carry on at that pace, mate."

The sudden voice from behind him caused Teague to leap almost a whole foot into the air. His heart pounded ridiculously hard against his chest whilst he turned to abruptly come to face with his elder brother.

"Brannigan?" he half-demanded, half-squeaked.

Brannigan smirked, his arms folded conceitedly across his chest. "You think I'd really let me little brother run away just like that?" He snapped his fingers together to emphasise his point.

"Um…" Teague began, "Everybody else is."

The eldest of the children just shrugged, plonking himself down on a nearby barrel. "Nah, I don't think anyone else knows you've gone. Pretty good escape plan you had, Teaguey…" He paused, taking a huge bite out of a rotting apple, causing Teague to cringe slightly.

"Too bad we share a room and you talk in yer sleep, ain't it?" Brannigan finished with a somewhat delinquent seeming smile.

Teague twitched his top lip up whilst searching his brain for a comeback. However his brother yet again beat him to the glory.

"Oh, just wait 'til I tell Mum about this…"

Ah, now this was a question he could respond to. And not only respond… this was something he could throw back in his brother's smug face and take a moment to snigger himself.

"Good luck with that, mate. Mum already knows I'm gone," he shot back, a playful glint glistening in his eyes.

Brannigan cocked an eyebrow, his self-satisfied expression falling into a confused glance. "Come again?" he inquired. "Ye're not saying she… let ya go your own way? Already?"

Teague nodded, complacently.

"You have to be jokin'!"

"When does the great Captain Edward Teague _joke_?" he jeered, sardonically. "Nope, mate, this is serious. I'm free to go. And seeing as _you_ still have to have _Mummy's_ permission to leave the house, I suggest you go running back to her right now, savvy?"

Brannigan scowled, hurling his putrid apple into the rippling ocean below. "I thought… well, why can't I go yet? I'm older than you and a better pickpocket…"

His little brother scoffed, disapprovingly. "Says he who got robbed by his younger _sister_!" he smirked, dauntingly.

"Alright, take back the pickpocket thing, but I'm still older!" complained he, hammering his foot down to the deck and pouting like that of a five year old child.

Teague grinned, "And you wonder why your freedom isn't yet granted?" he muttered, picking off his sibling's childish tantrum. At times it felt to him like he was dealing with a two year old toddler instead of a young man of seventeen.

"It's not _fair_!" Brannigan snarled. "Right, that's it. I'm coming with ya!"

Unexpectedly, it was Teague's turn to widen his chocolate eyes. "You _what_?" he gaped in astonishment.

"I'm comin'!" repeated Brannigan, with a short-lived shrug. "Come on, Teague, you couldn't sail a ship if yer life depended on it! And Da' taught me _everything_ he knew back in the day…"

"Only because you're his favourite," Teague grumbled. He had to admit, with Brannigan sharing their father's name; the eldest Teague had a great advantage of being favoured… and therefore being told all the secrets which could make a grand pirate captain indeed. If the fact he wasn't an adolescent oaf didn't apply.

"Besides, Mum wouldn't be happy," he continued.

Brannigan shrugged. "When is she _ever_ happy?"

"Good point."

Immediately, Brannigan's eyes began to sparkle. "So I'm comin'?" he alleged, quickly with a triumphant beam.

Teague sighed, glumly. _"So much for sweet freedom,"_ he thought with a brief roll of his dark eyes.

"It doesn't really matter what I say, does it?"

"Nah," Brannigan replied with an ostentatious smile.

Teague suppressed a grin of his own, turning away from his big brother in an attempt to hide it. As annoying as Brannigan was, he would definitely lighten up the journey ahead. Besides, he wouldn't stick around forever; nothing would satisfy him long enough to stay around for more than a month or so.

"But I'm the captain," he announced, quickly. He waved his arms at Brannigan whilst stepping up to the helm. "You can just make this thing… move… until you teach me how to do it, that is."

"Aye, aye, _sir_," his brother replied with a flamboyant bow.

A genuine smile intersected Teague's lips. _Sir_… yes, he liked that very much… Now all there was to do was find that loyal and devoted crew… and he could be _sir_ and _captain_ for as long as his heart desired… Or at least he hoped, that is…

--

"'Ey! 'Ey! You're doing it _wrong_!"

Matthew Teague, the youngest of the children in the household dug his long nails into his elder brother's hand causing David to howl obnoxiously at the seven year old boy. Carelessly, he plummeted his fist against Matt's shoulder with a hard glare.

"David! Don't hit yer brother!" their mother scolded, taking her seat at the table where the two boys were scribbling routes across an ancient map, a steaming mug of God knows what clasped in her hands.

"'E hurt me first!" David argued.

"Oh… well 'it him harder then!" Marie grumbled, pressing her tight lips to the rim of her mug. Matt began to yelp in distress as his brother clenched an unyielding fist in a menacing manner, a smug grin twisting across his lips.

"Mum!"

Matt opened his eyes once he felt the presence of David slump backwards; everyone's eyes were fixated on Evelyn and Chris in the doorway between rooms.

"What do ye want?" their mother inquired, rising slowly from her seat, uninterestedly.

"Teague's gone!" panted Chris, quickly.

"And Brannigan!" Evelyn put in.

Immediately Marie's brown eyes widened, alarmingly. "B-Brannigan?" she stammered, her anxious quote combined with a small snarl.

"Aye," Evelyn nodded. "And Teague."

"Brannigan? Oh, that bloody idiot." With a slight shudder shooting through her veins, their mother began to pace the length of the kitchen, chewing apprehensively on her chipped nails.

"Aye and Teague…"

"I don't care about _Teague_!" Evelyn was abruptly cut off by Marie's distressed hiss at her. "He can 'fend for 'imself. Brannigan on the other hand…"

"Relax, Mum," Charlie suddenly pushed into the conversation, peering over Evelyn's head into the crowded kitchen. "From the looks o' things, Brannigan's gone with Teague…"

"'Ow do you know?" snapped their mother, angrily. "Bloody idiot's gonna get caught… blab to the Navy he will… oh, Brannigan, you stupid lad!"

Evelyn's upper lip twitched. "Leave 'im alone, Mum!" she defended. "We've obviously done somethin' to upset him; Teague would be the only one he'd turn to… don't ye understand? They're together and protect one another, they will!"

"Well I ain't taken that chance!" Marie growled, flinging her cloak over her shoulder and flicking back her aging hair with a wrinkle of her withering nose. She headed straight for the door, her eyes dark with annoyance.

"Mum, where you goin'?" Chris called after her, he, David and Evelyn rushing a step forward, arranging themselves hurriedly around the disshaped circular table.

"Findin' Mac!" she snarled back, trudging her first steps out into the nipping breeze. "I'm tellin' 'im to send yer father after the lads! I ain't taking a chance with Brannigan out there, believe you me!"

It was more the wind which highlighted their mother's leave by slamming shut the dilapidated door behind her. The siblings shared a silent glance, each of them appearing as they had the ability to read one another's mind. However none of them had an idea what their siblings were thinking; yet, it took no special capability for any of them to foresee what awaited their elder brothers…

"If Da' gets his hands on Teague," Charlie breathed, "He's a dead man…"

Evelyn nodded with an accompanying gulp. "Lads, I think it's time we took this into our own hands…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** **I'm now looking for more recruits of Teague's crew! I have: Teague (obviously!), Brannigan, Jason and Beth (from **_**Beyond the Horizon**_**) but more are needed! And I don't **_**really**_** want any girls… I don't really get why; it just feels like Beth should be the only one…**

**Call me weird if ye must! Lol! Anyways, see ya in chapter 3!**


	3. No Business Like Show Business

**Author's Note:**** Yeah, I took a very long while in updating! :) Anyways, no Teague and Brannigan in this part! :( In fact, there's no Evelyn and Charlie either. But we do have two new characters who those of you guys who read **_**Beyond the Horizon**_**, my now-deleted fic, will remember!**

**Introducing Beth and Jason! Read all about them and grin at their awesomeness! :) Oh, and does anyone know how long it would take for Teague and Brannigan's ship to sail from Madagascar to Tortuga? I kinda really need to know! :)**

* * *

_**Kingston, Jamaica,  
23**__**rd**__** July, 1704**_

**--  
**_**Chapter III  
**__No Business Like Show Business  
_**--**

"Bethany Wicker, you bloody little wretch! Get here, _now_!"

Dust clotted together in the curly dirty blonde shaded locks of a young teenage girl, no older than fifteen. She winced at the caw of her name, fighting the raging urge to duck back down into the filthy barrel she had been sitting in.

You couldn't hide from Mr. Shepherd. Mr. Shepherd would always find you.

"_BETHANY WICKER!_ DO _NOT_ MAKE ME COME LOOKING FOR YOU!" came his booming, daunting voice. It bounced off the alley walls, echoing ferociously. Beth, finding out she had against her better judgement yet again ducked into her hiding place, closed her eyes tight. She gnawed down on her bottom lip, cradling her knees close in her arms.

Mr. Shepherd was _not_ the most considerate of men. His red face and sharp facial features seemed to portray that just as much as his personality. By instinct, he wasn't the man you would employ as playwright for a travelling theatre full of innocent children.

Unless, of course, he had an incredible talent for it. Which was unfortunately wasted on him.

Beth remained as quiet as she could manage with a tall, dark, mean-spirited man close to hovering over her. She could sense he was close. She could feel his evil presence near her and taste his overwhelming smell on the tip of her tongue.

"There you are, you good for nothing little whore!" he shrieked suddenly, giving the young teenager no time to adjust to his immediate attendance. Carelessly, he tightened a huge, monstrous hand around the collar of her ragged dress and pulled her clean out from her save, although grim-coated, little haven.

"Speak now, Miss Wicker, or forever hold your guilty conscience!" Mr. Shepherd barked, his piercing grey eyes glowering from beneath his thick bushy eyebrows directly into Beth's own bright blue orbs.

"Please Sir, I didn't mean any harm, I swear! Jason was throwing me the ball and it smashed into your office, Sir, I had to go in to retrieve it! I didn't mean to knock off all them papers, I swear, Sir, I promise!" she cried, the words flowing quickly from her lips, her cheeks glowing red with fright.

Mr. Shepherd huffed at her, releasing his iron grip on her neck ever so slightly. "You realize I'm gonna have to order _all_ that play again, you do?"

"I do, Sir, I do!" Beth stammered, blinking tears from her eyes before the malevolent playwright had the chance to jeer at her further. In truth, she saw it as an accident that could easily be shrugged off – he hadn't written very much in his newest play anyway. But she didn't dare say it. Every actor, dancer and musician working and living with _Marigold's_ _Travelling Theatre_ knew you didn't fight back against Mr. Shepherd.

He narrowed his eyes at her, lowering the trembling young lass to her bare feet, snatching his hand away from her as if she were a covered in sewerage. "Good," he merely snapped before he turned on his big booted heels and walked away.

"I'll be telling Miss Marigold about this, wench!" he growled, hardly having the decency to look over his shoulder as he spoke. "I'll make sure she knows what mischief you and that _darling_ Quinn of hers are up to!"

With that, he was gone, leaving Beth's dusty alleyway abandoned yet again.

She sighed, the lump rising high in her throat. It was true, she was part of a popular travelling theatre but not entirely true she was of any importance to Miss Marigold or any of the staff.

She had been born and orphaned in London, left on a cold, bitter night on the doorstep of Miss Andrea Marigold. As a younger woman, the director and manager of this theatre had been kind, caring dearly about the welfare and health of others. This was the reason she took young Bethany Wicker into her establishment.

But as the years past, it seemed Miss Marigold's happy heart shrivelled in her very chest and she lost all signs of tender loving care when she began her own travelling theatre company. Beth was allowed to come – to join her, to live with her, to be fed and watered and still be Miss Marigold's 'daughter' per say – but she was not an actress or a dancer or even allowed to work behind set.

She was a cleaner. She followed the stars around and cleared up their mess. And, usually, they weren't the slightest bit grateful.

She wondered why they didn't just abandon her, why they didn't just let her go. She had past her fifteenth birthday and was well aware most ordinary girls her age already had children hanging off their gowns and rings sparkling on their fingers. Beth on the other hand was afraid she would never have anything like that. Not even something the slightest bit similar.

As you can probably imagine, the stars of the theatre weren't exactly _fond_ of their cleaning girl. As a matter of fact, no-one was. Well, all but one.

Jason Quinn was somewhat in the same position as Beth. He was her age, perhaps slightly older if anything. However, unlike anyone, he had no business with the theatre. As a matter of fact, Beth – as well as everyone else – was wondering why on earth he hadn't been left behind as Miss Marigold led her travelling theatre on yet.

At the age of five, Jason had proved to be a very talented young boy. The 'star of the theatre' as Miss Marigold had believed at the time. Unfortunately, as Jason grew his talent seemed to shrink. He became less and less concerned with performing and dressing in sparkling costumes for dancing across the stage in front of an anticipating audience.

Before long he was nothing to the theatre.

Mr. Shepherd had been more than happy to have the boy thrown onto the streets and to let him rot their as an orphaned young lad and most likely starve. But Miss Marigold, however, had other ideas.

She had become attached – far too attached – to Jason's cheeky and mischievous attitude, his big, shining green eyes and wavy dark brown locks flopping on top of his head as he ran playfully through the dressing rooms, easily annoying everybody attempting to get ready for their latest show in there.

Far too annoying and quite literally pointless to make any friends among the dancers and actors, the only choice the trouble-making lad had was to spend time with young Bethany, who was more than happy to have someone – a friend – on her side.

Especially against Mr. Shepherd's raging temper.

But where was Jason? She couldn't help but wondering, as she made her way cautiously through the streets of Kingston, where her best and only friend had been to stand in between her and the malevolent playwright and send him running like a petrified little dog, lost from home.

Well, obviously not literally – Mr. Shepherd didn't run away.

"Jason?" she called, once standing alone behind stage of the large hall Miss Marigold and the team would be performing in later that night. The walls shook as she yelled his name, her voice echoing off the splintered wood walls and bouncing down off the incredibly tall ceiling.

"Jason?"

"Beth?" a reply finally came. An easy smile stretched out Beth's cheeks when she heard his voice. In fact, the young girl was so pleased to hear her best friend's response, she hardly was able to notice his voice was trembling, broken.

"Where are you?" she whispered, climbing carelessly over empty barrels and ropes, clutching the grooves in the wall to refrain herself from tumbling to the ground over the broken glass bottles. A shudder shot itself down her spine and under her skin when the image of sharp glass poking from her cracked, bleeding skin slithered into her mind.

She was relieved to see Jason's shadow upon a barrel; his back was turned on her and his face buried in his hands. Beth knitted her brows together in confusion. This wasn't like Jason. Jason was never sad.

"D-don't look at me, Beth," stammered the boy trembling a few feet from her just before she had the chance to demand what was wrong. "I don't want you to see me like this."

A shudder – an unpleasant shoot of terror – sucked the warmth from her skin, prickling anxiousness left behind on every inch of her body. Her heart began to pound angrily against her chest as she inched closer to Jason. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

"J-Jason?" she asked, placing her hand softly on his shoulder, causing Jason's body to shake thoroughly by her grasp. "W-what happened?"

And then he turned around. A gasp caught itself in Beth's throat, blocking her lungs and urging the beat of her thundering heart on. His face – his sweet, innocent face – was black with bruises, swollen and bloated by the cause of a sharp, powerful punch. Fresh, red scratches lay deep on his cheeks and over one eye, his lip still trickling with pristine, dark blood.

Jason forced a smile, wincing in pain as his attempt stretched out the deep slit over his mouth.

"Who did this to you?" whispered Beth once her voice had returned. It wasn't until she reached up for her own face and felt damp, warm tears she realized she was crying.

"Three guesses," Jason mumbled in reply, turning his back on her, kicking at an empty bottle with great force. It shattered against the wall, pieces of discarded glass skidding over the slippery wooden floorboards, returning to his booted feet like little boomerangs.

"Mr. Shepherd..." he heard Beth eventually stammer. He could hear the tears in her voice. It pained her to see him like this, he knew. She was afraid. Afraid of what this man would do. Not just to her but to them both.

He couldn't – as much as he tried to force himself – look his best friend in her icy blue eyes as he rose to his feet and turned on his heels. Unthinkingly, he gently moved past her, striding quickly for the exit. Until he heard her footsteps after him, he hadn't realized exactly what he was doing.

"Jason, wait!" Beth cried in between sobs. "Jason, please don't go!"

"Why not?" he demanded sharply. "Why can't we? C'mon Beth, we have no use here! Hell, no-one even _likes_ us! That bastard_ sabotaged_ my face because I refused to help him order his play! I thought he was goin' to _kill_ me, Beth! I'm _not_ staying here!"

He continued to storm for the door, fists clenched into tight balls of anger. He wasn't sure where he was going. Just away. Away from the theatre, away from Kingston and away from his so-called home and life. For that split second, he thought the world would never stop him, that he would never have to face Mr. Shepherd again.

He didn't even think about Beth, the only person in the world he had. He didn't hear her sobs as he stepped into the faint light of the outside world, he didn't see her kind face in his head. He didn't even listen as she screamed his name amongst his thoughts. He only stopped to think about his best friend when he was far away from the hall, sitting on the docks with his now-bare feet dangling loosely in the cold waves, his toes rippling the water as the sun fell down over the horizon.

Jason sighed; why had he left her behind?

He didn't know how many hours it had been, but the wind had picked up and the sky was almost dark so he figured he had been away for a while. What he had done with himself he couldn't remember.

Rising to his feet as he recklessly pulled on his boots, Jason turned, heading back to 'home'. After all, he had nowhere to go. He would just have to wait there; wait until Miss Marigold let him go his own way in life.

_If_ she let him go his own way in life.

However, something caught Jason's scarred eye as he stood mere feet away from the end of the dock. A figure dressed in a long black gown with satchels hanging from its arms reached up, pulling back its dark hood and letting dark blonde curls fall messily past its shoulders.

Beth forced a nervous smile, her eyes shining out through the darkness. "So," she said slowly, "when do we leave?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Ah, poor Jason. I kinda messed it up by rushing at the end, but I just wanted to post something! Not one of my **_**best **_**chapters but it'll do! :)**

**And you guys don't think Beth's a Mary-Sue, do ya? I just read it over and I'm not sure... If so, I wouldn't worry! I'm gonna make her the most **_**NOT**_** Mary-Sue ever... somehow... **

**Anyways, I have pictures of Beth and Jason on my profile. I think I found a good picture of Jackson Rathbone for Jason... but I don't remember! There are ones of Brannigan and Teague (teenage Keith! YAY!) too.**

**Please, please, please review? It really helps... you guys should know! ;) **


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